Chapter 23
SLADE
Voice message from Alex: Hey, Happy Thanksgiving.
I miss you and wish I were there. Mark has a game in town in a few weeks, so the girls and I will be staying with Grandpa.
Round up the guys for a beer. I want to know everything you’ve been working on.
Tell them all hi and to give you extra shit for me. K. Love you. Bye.
______
“You’ve got to actually talk to her,” Carson whispers.
Trig pulls a beer bottle from the bucket and points the neck at me. “You haven’t said a single word to her since she got here.”
“It’s been two minutes,” I grind through my teeth. “And I don’t need your help with this.”
They literally just got here. I opened the door, and Krissy rushed the kids while Millie pulled Sarah and her friend Roxie into hugs as if they were long-lost friends. So, I took the pie from Sarah and stepped aside.
I set it on the counter and crack open my beer. “Just mind your own damn business or go home.” I lean back against the counter and take a cool, fizzy swig. “I will handle this my way so you two busybodies can go practice your elite social skills rather than pester me.”
They glance at each other. “If you blow the opportunity we set before you, we aren’t helping you anymore. ”
“Is that a promise?”
They groan and leave my kitchen, allowing me the moment of peace I need. I’m not nervous. I’m just anxious with all these people in my space and those buffoons making eyes at me every two seconds like they’re some kind of matchmaking queens.
I don’t want to be watched or forced. I want to get to know Sarah and have this unfold if and when it’s supposed to. Slowly.
I will never tell these assholes, but I may have peeked at the book Wind left in my chair. It drones on about the grieving process. I might have gotten stuck in stage two some time ago, but they don’t need to know that either. I’m working on it.
The book says these things take time, and that’s what I’m doing, taking my slow ass time.
Krissy’s head pops through the doorway. “Quit hiding in here. You’re being rude to our guests,” she whispers.
I take another long swig of my beer and push out a breath. Maybe I can convince Ollie to go outside.
I leave the comfort of my kitchen and join the crowd in the living room. Carson and Trig stand along the far wall, each holding a beer. Trig elbows Carson. When their gazes land on me, their lips slide into smirks, and my middle finger covertly waves in their direction.
They laugh, and I want to grab them by their necks and drag them to the front yard.
“It’s wonderful to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you and these sweet kiddos,” Millie says as Wind throws his arm around her shoulders on one end of the sectional. Next to Wind, her small frame looks even smaller.
Sarah sits on the other end, her hands around Frankie, who’s standing against the back of the couch, inching her way to Krissy’s outstretched arms.
Her friend, Roxie, is beside her with Ollie in her lap, his plane doing aerials through the air.
“Your eyes are absolutely mesmerizing,” Mille says as if she’s unable to look away .
“Have they always been like that? Two different colors?” Wind asks, and I want to reach across the room and smack him upside the head.
Sarah laughs. “Yes.”
“Kids at school used to call her a mutt,” Roxie says.
Sarah’s eyes lift to mine but drop away.
My hands ball into fists, thinking about anyone saying things like that to her, but I have no doubt she’s heard her fair share of cruel comments.
“They all ate their ugly words when she grew into a bombshell.”
“Rox,” Sarah warns.
“What? Seriously, look at you, and when you won—”
“Rox.” Sarah widens her eyes, stopping her from finishing her sentence.
Roxie frowns in return.
I want to know what she was about to say.
Roxie isn’t wrong. Sarah is crazy beautiful, but it’s clear that she wants to be seen for more than that.
“What’s a m-mutt?” Ollie asks, zipping his jet through the air.
The room goes silent as we all stare at Ollie and his innocent question.
“Hey, Ol,” I say, catching his attention. “Let me see what you’ve got.”
Roxie releases him, and he hops off her lap. Her eyes run over me before she returns to the conversation that’s morphed into Krissy’s new townhouse and decorating ideas.
I squat, and Ollie hands me his jet. “This is cool.”
“It’s s-s-super fast.” He pushes it off my palm, and it takes off. “Can we go outside and play?”
This kid and I understand each other. “Uh . . .”
“Put your coat on,” Sarah says, and my gaze snaps to hers. I want to ask her where her coat is, just to see her reaction. As if she can tell what I’m thinking, her eyelids drop slightly as she presses her lips together, trying not to smile.
My skin warms, and I need some air. I stand, feeling Ollie’s little fingers latch on to mine as we head for the back door.
“We’ll come with you.”
I glance over my shoulder at Carson and Trig following. I want to laugh my ass off, but I hold it in until we make it into the garage.
“So, would you two like to explain to me again how to make conversation and socialize?”
Trig makes a clicking noise with his mouth. “Man, we didn’t have anything to contribute to Krissy’s decor choices. We just need to know when we’re hauling her shit to the new place.”
“That’s a bad word,” Ollie says, picking up the baseball I scrounged up the weekend they stayed. He tosses it gently in his little hands.
“Sorry, little man,” Trig says.
“It’s ok. Mama says it s-s-sometimes, too.”
Carson turns on the TV over the workbench, and sports news fills the air, along with the smoke filtering into the garage from the smoker.
“Can I see those?” Ollie points to the classic Hot Wheels I collected as a kid that now sit lined up on a shelf.
I lift him, and he runs his fingers over each one as Wind joins us.
“Don’t go in there? Krissy’s telling labor stories.” He shivers, lifting the lid on the smoker to check the turkey.
“What’s this one?” Ollie holds the tiny, forest-green car.
“That’s a ’68 Mustang. My mom gave it to me, and it’s my favorite. You know why?”
He shakes his head.
“It’s called Bullitt, but see this here?” I point to the slanted back of the car. “It’s a fastback. The most high-performance styled Mustang.”
He makes it do a burnout and then races across the shelf.
The garage door opens again, and Roxie steps out this time. She glances around the space. “Well, this is quite the man cave, but spare me the burping and farting.”
Ollie giggles, picking up another car .
“We’ll try, but we make no promises,” Carson says.
“Fair enough,” she shrugs, stepping further into the garage. “You all skedaddled like a nest of field mice. I didn’t catch which one of you called Sarah an a-hole.” She crosses her arms.
I know women talk. I spent years listening to Krissy go on and on with ‘she said this’ and ‘she said that.’ In all cases, I couldn’t give two shits what they were talking about unless it had something to do with hurting Krissy’s feelings.
But for some reason, I would like to know exactly what Sarah has said about me.
“That was Slade.” Wind throws a thumb over his shoulder in my direction as he pulls on a turkey leg. “Don’t worry, he calls us that all the time, but it’s filled with love.”
“I’m sure it is.” Her head falls to the side, studying me.
I hear snickers from the corner where Trig and Carson have settled with their beers on the workbench.
She lifts her chin. “So, you live here.” Her eyes squint a little, and her lips curve upward ever so slightly.
I’m unsure whether it’s a question or a statement, so I remain silent.
“Swade’s our n-neighbor,” Ollie says.
“Huh.” She strolls closer, and I put Ollie down, wondering where this might go.
“Let me see that ball.” Trig waves Ollie over.
Ollie tosses it to him and follows.
Roxie squares her stance beside me. “So, you’re the one who repaired her car and gave her a ride to work.”
I'm unsure whether this woman is questioning me or drawing some sort of conclusion. Either way, I’m not interested in discussing my time with Sarah.
She turns toward me, crossing her arms again. She stares at me long and hard as if she’s searching for something.
Her voice softens. “You know, she’s new here, doesn’t have a lot of friends, and is taking care of these two babies on her own. ”
Sarah told me she didn’t have any help, but the additional confirmation is good to know. I watch Trig show Ollie how to grip the ball and then toss it to Carson.
“She’s not one to ask for help even when she’s drowning.
It’s. . .really nice, the things you’ve done.
Thank you for looking out for her.” She inhales and lets it out.
“But,” her chin lifts, her eyes holding mine, “she’s had more than her fair share of heartbreak, so if you mess with her in any way, you’ll be walking around nutless. And that is a promise. Got it?”
I nod once, wanting to know more.
She smiles and pats me on the arm. “Good talk.” She takes two steps toward the door but stops. “Oh, you gonna be around next weekend?” She makes a circular motion with her hand.
I frown but nod again. “Yeah.”
“Good.” She smiles and spins for the door.
All three pairs of eyes land on me as the door closes, and Ollie runs after a rogue ball rolling out of the garage.
Carson and Trig join Wind, who’s conveniently done messing with the turkey.
“What the hell is happening next weekend?” Carson asks.
I run a hand over my beard, watching Ollie try to launch the ball across the front yard. “I don’t know.”
“Why the hell didn’t you ask?” Trig crosses his arms over his chest. “We’re moving Krissy, aren’t we?”
“Since you’re so good at listening to other people’s conversations, why didn’t you ask?” I snap back.
“Both of you hush,” Wind says, turning toward us. “You need to get in there and find out. If something is happening with Sarah or the kids, we should know about it. I like her, so your grouchy, sour-ass attitude needs to simmer down.” He points at me.
“Yeah, we like her,” Carson agrees. “If you screw this up, and she never wants to see your ugly, scowling face again, that’s tough shit for you.”
“I’m not screwing anything up. Nothing is happening. ”
All three snort.
“And whose fault is that?” Carson drawls.
My head falls back toward the sky, begging for patience.
“I’m just saying. You can take your slow ass time, or you can get in there and go after what we all know you really want.”
“I don’t know what I want.” That might be a bit of a lie, but I go with it. “I don’t know much about Sarah, and you three need to back off.”
I march toward Ollie in the front yard, having had enough.
“Hey, that’s the wrong way,” Trig yells.
I flip them off behind my back, knowing this is the only way. If something is happening with Sarah, she’s got to be the one to tell me. If she wants to. The only thing these jackasses are right about is that I have to create the opportunity for her to do that.